Suicide BOULEVARD
by Mark Meredith
Summary: In this novelette, written in the tradition of Mr. Stephen King, there lies within, a young man with a switchblade and a leather-jacket, mangled and bloody with his shoulders on fire with red, ghostly flames, looking such as the nemesis in "Riding the Bullet". His name is Daltry and Daltry rides a fast car from the 50's like, "The Road Virus Heads North," he was alive in the 50's.


Approximate Words Counted 300

2013:

Disposable Copy

Suicide EXPRESSWAY: Cover Blurb

by

Mark Walter Meredith

In this **novelette**, written in the tradition of **Mr. Stephen King**, there lies within, a young man with a switchblade and a leather-jacket**, **mangled and bloody with his shoulders on fire with red,ghostly flames, looking such as the nemesis in **"**Riding the Bullet**".** His name is _**Daltry**_ and _Daltry_ rides a **fast car** from the 50**'**s like**, "**The Road Virus Heads North,**" he** was alive in _**the**_** 50's, the** period that was written about in Stephen King's **The Green Mile Part Two The Two Dead Girls**. Still alive back in the 50's Daltry used to race in Daltry's car. Daltry only liked racing and to** listen to oldies from the **50's on_** Daltry's**_ car-radio as in the **novel ****Skeleton Crew by** Stephen King but now he _haunts_ a fictional small-town created by the writer that lies somewhere near the coast around where the author's hometown lay **just** as in Cujo.

If one_** loves Stephen King-style books**_ with fast 50's cars like Christine, about a tale that's taking place in the 50's, too, such as **Steven King's ****Stand by Me** and love oldies and small-towns as in** Stephen King's **_**It**__**, **__**The Dark Half **_then you'll equally love this book!

Meredith-2 'ver Blurb

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Approx Word Counted 300

2013;

Disposable Copy

HEY, CHECK OUT MY STORIES!

by

Mark W. Meredith

Hey, check out a story I started! I've just discovered fan fiction 4 the first time! I've made a go at stories & I wondered if I should continue. What do ya' think, should I continue writing it?!

Are these good concepts to create short-short stories for!?

Is the idea/concept worth it?!

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_Approx Word Count 12,300

_Two Thousand and Thirteen Yuri T.

_Disposable Copy

SUICIDE EXPRESSWAY

by

M. Walt Meredith

Four teenagers usually hung out in the parking lot of Kingston High after school usually let out. Today was no different after high school let out. Marcus and Joyce sat in the backseat of Ronnie's car, as usual. Meanwhile, Ron's girl Amelia sat shotgun, and sitting at the steering wheel, of course, was Ron.

The late April sun baked them all with the kind of heat that was somewhere between warm and hot, but not enough to make one break a sweat. They all sat in their usual places with all four-car doors wide open. Ron sat gripping the steering wheel of the car that he probably loved more than the girl sitting next to him, his shades and his leather jacket on as always, though it seemed like he never broke a sweat. The rest of his friends, who sat in his car, wasting time in his 68 Ford until sun-fall, had never seen him sweat once.

Marcus called from the back seat, "Hey, Ron," (He liked to needle Ron a lot.) " Do you exercise your breath?"

Ron, pulling in his chin with a jerk and tightening his up his face, didn't understand what Marcus was talking about. He wasn't the only one. Ron snapped, "What?!"

Marcus repeated, "Do you exercise your breath?"

Ron said, "No!"

Marcus paused and said, "Then why is your breath so strong?" The car was silent for short seconds before it was filled with muffled chuckles and titters. Everybody in the 68 Ford was laughing, except for Ron.

Ron was not amused. He retorted, "Shut up, Marcus, you're so lame that you should be allowed to park in the a handicapped parking zone."

The laughter gave way to exclamations of "ooo!" and "Oh ho ho!" Joyce covered her mouth with her open hand, trying hard not to laugh. Even Marcus was wincing at the scalding he had gotten. Marcus was always the one to play the goof-off.

He saw himself to the Costello to Ron's Abbott, laurel to Ron's Hardy. Ron just saw Marcus as a dork, but he was a good yes-man and liked to do the same things as he did. So they spent the day away, listening to the radio playing on the rock station, talking, smoking, and joking, Ron telling Marcus to shut up every once in a while. Sundown came before any of them wanted the day to end, but the day had slowly dragged on long enough that they accepted the twilight's coming without grudge.

Accepting that it was about time to head on home, they gathered their books and backpacks from where they rested on the hood, on the roof, and on the trunk and opened the trunk door to put them in for the ride home. The Ford pulled back into the empty parking lot and drove forward as Ron swung the wheel towards the right-hand exit of the school parking lot. Amelia, who was sitting next to Ron suddenly said, "Where are we going? Who's going to be dropped off first?"

Ron stared silently at the road before him, as he turned from the parking lot into the exit, which let out to the street. The car half-screeched to a halt as Ron paused at the street to make sure it was clear, then said, **I'm going to your house; your house is the closest isn't it?**

Amelia looked even ore confused. She said, "Then why are we going through this side of the parking lot? I mean we were closer to the other side."

Ron clicked up the turn signal; a green light on the dashboard indicated meant a right turn, the opposite direction from where he usually went to drop her off.

Ron just said, **I know a shortcut.**

Shocked, Joyce asked aloud, "What?"

Marcus laughed, "He's going to take the Kingston Overpass!" The 68 Ford tore into the street, reaching the intersection just as the light turned red. The schools chain link fence came to a corner at the intersection. Across the street there stood the old run-down filling station, and between it and the fences corner stood on the right side of the road, a road closed sign on a decaying wooden fence.

The four of them sat in the car, with the fence standing in the intersection to the side of them, blocking the right side of Kingston Expressway, so that they couldn't make a right turn onto it, warning them like an omen of things to come. Amelia turned to Ron and said, "You're not taking the Kingston Overpass are you?" Ron just sat quietly watching the cars swoosh by in front of him on Kingston Expressway. The car's engine was letting out a long, throaty growl, like a bulldog ready to attack.

Afraid of the deadly lunge that came that would end the growl and send them racing towards death, Amelia called out to him again, **Ron! Don't even kid about that!** The only response she got was Ron revving the engine twice, louder each time. Marcus laughed, and the sound of the roaring engine started to gradually climb in intensity, as Ron slowly pushed the petal to the floor, inch by inch.

The growling slowly became a loud yell ringing out from the steel engine. The cars swished by maddeningly every second as Amelia grabbed Ron by the jacket crying out, "You're going to kill us! You're going to kill us all, do you hear me?!" The only answer she got was the sound of the engine running to a fever pitch, growing so loud that it drowned out all other sound, piercing their ears. The yell became a scream of tires and the bulldog lunged to attack the road, Kingston Road.

The car raced onto the left hand lane of Kingston Road, after a car had just swooshed by, leaving Ron racing between the gap of road between it and the next car, heading strait at them. Two cars raced right towards each other on the same side of the road, the other's beeping getting louder and louder as it sped nearer. Ron swerved into the right hand lane at jaguar's speed, the other car speeding past one second later.

Marcus wasn't laughing anymore. **Hey, wait; you're not really going to take the Kingston Overpass are you? I thought you were only kidding, trying to scare the girls, y'know. What.**

Ron snapped at them, "Shut, up! I'm trying to concentrate! We're going to die if you don't stop nagging me, damn it!"

From behind him Joyce said, **Ron, don't! You know how many people have died up there!** The three passengers sat in silence for an answer; the only sound to be heard being the cars flashing by in swift packs and clusters by:

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